


Boondock Talk

by bgn



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:42:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2627171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgn/pseuds/bgn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversation and some smut with the MacManus brothers. Starts pre-movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Are We?

Connor and Murphy hadn't had sex for six months. Not with each other, that is. Their relationship was an on and off thing. Girlfriends came and went – literally since they rarely spent the night – but the brothers were forever. They dated sporadically and if one of them got serious for awhile the other usually hooked up with a girl as well so as not to be left out, because they didn't sleep together when they were involved with the opposite sex. They knew the relationships wouldn't last but some odd sense of honor toward the girls made them abstain from sabotaging things with their own relationship. Women tended to get fed up fairly quickly. They knew going in that the twins were a package deal and they figured it would be fun but they soon realized that dating a MacManus was a short-term affair.

The latest relationships had lasted longer than usual, a fuckin' record in fact. Murphy's girl gave notice first, Connor's followed soon after. Both break-ups happened at McGinty's which wasn't unusual. Ex-girlfriends didn't show up there and the brothers suffered no embarrassment at being dumped publicly. Rocco would play 'Another One Bites the Dust' on Doc's ancient jukebox and order a round in commiseration. He did wonder sometimes if those Irish assholes staged break-ups just to get free drinks.

On the evening in question Murphy was at the bar with Roc and other regulars, having been on his own for several days. Connor and his soon-to-be former girlfriend were at a small table in the corner. It was obvious what was going on, the scene having played out so often before. Connor was smoking silently, face impassive. The girl leaned toward him, talking quietly. She seemed to be asking a question. His response was a slight shake of the head. She said something else. This time he gave a small nod. She picked up her purse and rose from the table. Connor, a gentleman at the end, stood up and kissed her cheek. She left and Connor went to the bar.

'How Can You Mend a Broken Heart' blared from the jukebox and everyone looked startled.

"What?" Rocco demanded. "I can't change it up a little?"

"The Bee Gees?" Everyone roared.

"Two of 'em are twins. I thought it was appropriate!" Rocco was defensive.

"Thanks, Roc," Connor said. "But I think I'll head home." He tossed back his shot and left.

"Think he's really upset?" Rocco asked Murphy. "Was it the song or the girl?"

"The song, of course, you fuckin' idiot," Murphy replied, then he grinned. "Nay. Sometimes Con takes these things to heart for a bit. He'll be fine tomorrow. But I'd best go, too."

Everyone nodded. This was brother stuff.

Murphy shrugged out of his coat, pulled off his tee shirt and unzipped his jeans on the way up the stairs. He was naked ten seconds after stepping into the loft. Connor was standing under the shower facing the wall with arms braced above his head. He smiled over his shoulder.

"Everyone think I'm pining for Lisa?"

"All except Roc. He thinks the new song got to ya."

Connor looked blank for a moment. He had already forgotten. "So ya left early to help mend my broken heart? Well, get to it, then."

And a few minutes later when Murphy entered him, Connor thought 'Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, how could we go so long without this?'

Murphy, buried deep, with one hand on his brother's hip, reached around with his other for Connor's cock and had the same thought 'Christ on a crutch, how could we last six months without this?'

Afterward they collapsed on the cement. They hadn't shut the water off and it was running cold so Connor raised one long leg and turned the faucet with his toes. They lay side by side while their breathing slowed and synched. Connor's left hand was next to Murphy's right, trigger finger tattoos pressed together.

This had been going on for years, long before they learned it was a sin. Maybe that's why they didn't consider it as such. They had wondered if it was so unusual, especially between twins, and thought it might not be. As young boys, who better to experiment with? How else to learn the mysteries of sex than with someone whose body you knew as well as your own? And a few years later when the female form became an object of curiosity they satisfied that curiosity and compared notes and became pretty fuckin' proficient at pleasing their partners. They discovered that they enjoyed female company and liked sex with women. But they always came back to each other.

Despite being so close, they were glad to be fraternal twins rather than identical. For them it wouldn't seem right to look at each other and feel like it was a mirror. They resembled each other only as much as any two brothers might but they had shared a womb and that formed an unbreakable bond. They liked the small differences between themselves. Connor slightly taller and more slender, Murphy's hair a few shades darker, his chest smoother. Connor's cock was longer, Murphy's a thicker fistful.

This intimacy was private not because they were ashamed but because it was for them alone. What they did together existed in a place beyond sin and beyond most people's understanding. Still, they were careful because they owed no one an explanation or even an opportunity to ask questions. It was simpler this way and it was nobody else's fuckin' business.

They were still partially erect and soon their hands reached for each other again and when cocks strained against bellies it was Connor's turn to fill Murphy. Later they rinsed off and went to their separate mattresses. They shared a bed occasionally but didn't need the proximity to feel connected. It was always there. Besides, Connor was a still sleeper and Murphy a restless cover hog and that was a difference that meant they didn't want to share a bed all the time.

Connor slept for a couple of hours. When he awoke he lay quietly until Murphy stirred and his breathing changed.

"Are you awake?"

"Aye." Murphy's voice was still sleepy.

"Care for some company?"

Apparently he wasn't as sleepy as Connor thought because the immediate response was Murphy's body thumping on Connor's mattress. They turned to each other, limbs tangling. Connor hitched Murphy's leg higher and hooked it around his hip so they lay chest to chest, belly to belly, groin to groin. They kissed for awhile, lips renewing familiarity with territory unexplored for months. Stubble rasped against stubble and they both thought 'I missed that.'

They were half hard again but content to lay with cocks pressed together, taking turns moving just enough to keep the friction interesting. Connor lit a cigarette and after a couple of drags he passed it to Murphy without using his hands. He rolled it sideways on his tongue and handed it off to Murphy's tongue. It was a technique they'd been perfecting before the last girlfriends.

"Christ, we're out of practice," Murphy said after a near miss. "We'll be settin' the sheets on fire."

"Fuck the sheets," Connor replied. "You dropped ash on my chest."

Murphy nudged the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and leaned down carefully to lick a decent portion of Connor's chest, giving special attention to his nipples.

"Ahhh," Connor sighed with pleasure. "That's some skillful tongue work, brother."

"It's all coming back to me now," Murphy quoted. "When I touch you like this and you hold me like that."

"Ma liked that song."

"She probably didn't think of her sons buggering each other when she heard it."

Murphy successfully passed the rapidly dwindling butt to Connor. One long suck and it was gone.

"Ya know, this is almost health conscious," Connor mused. "We're burnin' more than we smoke."

"But we're smokin' twice as many," Murphy said as he lit another.

"Ye're right," Connor agreed. "Fuck healthy."

"If ya can't smoke after sex, why bother?" Murphy paused. "Wait, that didn't sound right."

"Glad ye're finally hearing yerself," Connor said. "Because I'd fuck ya even if we were out of smokes."

"Are we homos, do ya think?" Murphy asked.

"Not quite."

"Hetero?" Murphy sounded doubtful.

"Not completely."

"Bi-sexual, then."

"Not exactly."

"I'm runnin' out of options, Con."

Times like this, their conversation ranged from silly to serious to downright philosophical. Not unusual for the Irish. A few drinks and anyone could be a warrior-poet-philosopher.

"We're not quite gay because we only do this with each other," Connor explained. "I'm not attracted to any other men."

"Me, neither," Murphy replied. "But we're not completely straight because we do this with each other and it's not a one-time thing. It won't end until we're dead."

"Not even then."

"Think we're going to hell?"

"It's likely. But I'd rather burn with you in hell than without you in heaven."

"Aye. We burn for each other either way."

"So it's best not to try and label ourselves," Connor said. "We've never been ones to fit in."

"Ya fit me well enough."

"We fit each other, ya filthy-minded mick."

Connor was pleasantly drowsy and starting to drift off when Murphy began talking about work and which mass they should attend in the morning and any other fuckin' subject he could think of because he wasn't tired and saw no reason why his twin shouldn't stay awake to entertain him.

"If I make ya come again, will ya shut it?" Connor asked.

"Well, not while ye're doin' the deed," Murphy replied. "But I'll probably fall asleep right after."

"Ye're sure you couldn't be quiet during?"

"I'm a moaner, ya know. And I like to let ya know how ye're doing. Encouragement, ya see."

"Positive reinforcement, is it? I appreciate yer thoughtfulness."

They were both moving now and the rubbing sensations built to a slow, satisfying climax.

"We should clean up," Connor murmured.

"Too comfortable to move," Murphy mumbled.

"We'll be glued together by morning."

"I can live with that."

They slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Queen - Another One Bites the Dust](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rY0WxgSXdEE)
> 
> [Bee Gees - How Can You Mend A Broken Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YeIa6ZocNKc)


	2. Sickness and Secrets

Connor and Murphy were taking a break from dating. Six months with their last girlfriends had been too long apart. They liked women but they were coming to the realization that they liked each other more. Maybe they would want marriage and children as they got older but for now settling down was something to consider in a far distant future.

There were other advantages besides sex when it was just the two of them. At home alone they kept in better practice with their languages, often speaking a different one each week. They had a natural affinity for languages and a good ear for accents. Ma had said it was part of their Irish gift of gab.

Work was busier than usual lately. There was a flu bug going around and people were out sick. The MacManus brothers weren't prone to illness. Their ailments generally came from hangovers and fighting. After one particularly long day the evening began as many of their evenings did with drinks after work at McGinty's. But they didn't get wasted because tomorrow was another workday. So it was a surprise when Murphy threw up five minutes after they got home. Connor was considering in loud and gleeful detail whether his twin was developing an inability to hold his liquor when Murphy threw up again. And again.

"Good news, Murph. You've picked up that flu bug."

"That's not a comfort to me."

"I only meant ya won't have to curtail your alcoholic intake. You'll be fine in 24 hours."

But Murphy was far from fine right then. The chills set in and he couldn't get warm. The brothers slept nude or in boxers pretty much year-round but tonight Murphy was in socks, sweatpants and his ratty robe. Connor piled all their blankets on Murphy's bed and spooned him until his teeth stopped chattering.

Feeling better for the moment, Murphy had a request. "Sing somethin'."

Connor's breath was warm on Murphy's neck as he sang softly.

_'Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling_   
_From glen to glen, and down the mountainside_   
_The summer's gone, and all the roses falling_   
_Tis you, tis you, must go and I must bide.'_

"Keep goin'."

_'But come ye back when summer's in the meadow_   
_Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow_   
_Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow_   
_Oh Danny boy, my Danny boy, I love ye so.'_

"More."

_'And when ye come, and all the flowers are dying_   
_If I am dead, as dead I well may be ...'_

"Ya had me at I love ye," Murphy stopped him. "I forgot that verse is a right downer."

Murphy threw up during the night and again in the morning and it was obvious he couldn't go to work. Connor was holding Murphy's head as he prayed to the porcelain god.

"That's disgustin'."

"I'm sick!" Murphy's voice was very close to a whine. "I can't help it."

"Not you, the toilet. We've let our housekeepin' standards slip lately."

"Holy Mother!" Murphy recoiled with distaste. In his misery he had been oblivious but now he was appalled by the state of their stool. "I'm pickin' up germs as fast as I'm pukin' 'em out."

On the landing Connor found a relatively clean bucket left by a construction crew. He rinsed it out and set it by Murphy's mattress along with a bottle of water.

"Drink that today or you'll dehydrate," he ordered.

Murphy knew his brother was right. He took a swig.

"Sip it, don't gulp it, or it'll come ..."

Murphy gagged and reached for the bucket.

"... right back up," Connor finished.

Murphy lay there, eyes closed, his winter-pale skin faintly green.

"I could make some dry toast," Connor offered. "Might settle yer stomach."

"Don't you fuckin' mention food to me, you sadistic bastard."

Connor laughed as he smoothed Murphy's damp hair. "Ye're sweatin' a bit instead of shiverin'. It's a good sign." He kissed his brother's forehead. "Have a rest. I'll look in at lunch."

Murphy dozed all morning, waking occasionally to sip the water. He didn't throw up again but he felt weak and shaky. Connor arrived with soup but Murphy didn't quite trust his gut not to rebel yet.

"Give it a warm-up later if ya feel like it," Connor suggested. There was a battered microwave in the corner. Connor stayed only long enough to be satisfied that Murphy was on the mend.

With the resilience of youth and general good health, Murphy was much improved a couple of hours later. He chanced the soup with no bad result and it gave him the energy to shower and clean the toilet and wash his sweaty sheets. He was about to strip Connor's bed when he heard his brother on the stairs. It wasn't Connor's footsteps that attracted his attention, it was the sound of retching.

Connor looked at his twin with a distinct lack of affection when Murphy appeared on the landing. "Fuck you and yer fuckin' germs and the fuckin' horse they rode in on."

Murphy grinned. "It's yer good fortune that I'm recovered enough to take my turn as nursemaid."

Events repeated themselves that night with their roles reversed, including a song. It was Murphy's breath on Connor's neck this time.

_'One day soon I'm going to tell the moon about the crying game.'_

"Boy George. Are ya serious?"

"He's Irish and we share a sexual proclivity with him."

"He's full-stop gay. Our inclination is part-time and limited to each other."

"Ye're in denial, Connor. If we go on as we are we'll be flamin' faggots by the time we're forty."

Connor reached for the bucket. There was nothing more to come up and the heaving left him achy. "Right now that's not the worst future I can imagine."

But things looked considerably brighter by morning. A shower and clean sheets for Connor completed the cure. They didn't have to work so they went back to bed to catch up on sleep and ended up fooling around instead. A lot. For a long time. Their final explosive orgasms left them gasping but sated and they napped. But the flu had taken a toll. They forgot to bolt the door and they slept so deeply that they didn't hear the knocking.

They were in a very unbrotherly position when they woke to find Rocco looking down at them in confusion. "Am I the only one who didn't know you guys are queer?"

Murphy tried to salvage the situation. "It's not what ya think. We've been sick."

"It's not just sick, it's perverted. You're brothers!"

"No, I mean we had the flu ... And we were cold ..." Murphy's voice trailed off.

Connor accepted the inevitable. "No, Roc, ye're not the one who didn't know. Ye're the only one who does know."

"Really?" Rocco sounded happier for some reason.

"Are ya going to be a judgmental asshole about this, then?" Connor asked.

"What? No! I'm cool. I was just pissed in case I was the last to find out."

Murphy recovered his wits and his voice: "That's the part of this entire fuckin' scenario that ye're most concerned with?"

"Why not? We're friends. If you fucking MacManuses – and I use that phrase literally here – had told anyone else but me that you're queer as Dick's hatband, I'd have the right to be ..."

"Where the fuck did ya get that expression?" Connor asked with amazement.

"A Limey dude. Is it wrong?"

"In that instance queer doesn't mean gay, it means odd or unusual," Murphy explained.

"And you don't think your activities qualify?"

The twins shrugged. "Fair point."

"So how long has this been going on?" Rocco was interested.

The brothers looked at each other.

"Ten ..." Murphy started.

"Fifteen ..." Connor went on.

"Murphy sighed. "As far back as we remember."

"But you sleep with your girlfriends. Enough of those bitches have bragged about you that they can't all be lying."

"Aye, Roc, we sleep with women as well," Connor said. "The other is just between us."

"Huh. I did wonder once or twice," Rocco said. "There was kind of a vibe."

"We're givin' off a gay vibe?" Murphy was horrified.

"Nah, it's just because I know you so well. But I figured I was wrong. There's never been a whisper."

"We'd like it to stay that way if ya don't mind," Connor said.

"I'll take it to the grave," Rocco promised.

The brothers believed him. Rocco was mobbed up and even at his low level the first rule was 'Keep your mouth shut.'

It was rarely mentioned between them after that and never in public. Rocco stopped by the MacManus loft more often than the brothers went to his apartment. He had a loose arrangement with a druggie girlfriend and they were kind of cohabitating although she wasn't currently in residence.

"I haven't seen her for a couple of weeks but her cat's still there," Rocco told them.

"Are ya feedin' the wee beastie?" Connor was genuinely concerned because Rocco wasn't always reliable in such matters.

"Fuck, yes. I like the cat better than Donna does and I don't particularly like cats. Fact is, I like the cat more than I like Donna. And remember, I don't particularly like cats." Rocco paused. "What about you guys? Are you still ..." He made wanking motions with his fist.

"Every fuckin' chance we get," Murphy said just to wind Rocco up. "We'd be at each other right now if you weren't here."

"Don't let me stop you. Somebody might as well have a better sex life than me."

"Are you suggestin' a threesome?" Connor asked. "Because that's not really our thing."

"Fuck no! I'm just being supportive of my closeted friends."

* * *

_"I'll take it to the grave."_

He had kept his promise far too soon. The brothers remembered that when Rocco was gone. The best friend they'd ever had besides each other.


	3. Interval of Peace

Connor and Murphy MacManus were born and raised in Ireland but hadn't lived there for a decade. It was good to be back.

They hadn't had a father while growing up but their mother's brother Sibeal had filled the void as a father figure. When he became a priest, it cemented his nephews' spiritual connection with their religion. The twins spoke English and Gaelic at home and their mother taught them their father's family prayer. Their uncle taught them French and Latin. They learned other languages later.

These years with their father were a gift. It would have been grand to grow up with him but in some ways they were lucky to know each other as adults instead.

Il Duce and the Saints had disappeared without a trace and they lived very much in seclusion but there was always the possibility of a chance meeting, a moment of recognition, even a betrayal although that was unlikely. But it was best to be prepared. They followed their father's example and let their hair and beards grow, not only as a disguise but because it just seemed easier in their new life. The brothers searched out bolt-holes in the surrounding area and while secure hiding places were the purpose, the spots were also well suited for privacy.

Life had conspired to bring them ever closer. Isolation in Ireland, their deepening love and dependence, acknowledgment that their relationship with each other meant more than the casual liaisons they had briefly enjoyed with women. Even so, they didn't spend their time in a state of rut. The sheep farm demanded long hard hours of work. During lambing season in particular they were lucky to snatch time for food and a few hours of sleep. And face it, they were getting older. The instant arousal and frequent shagging of their teens and twenties was passing.

In many ways it was more pleasurable now than before. They had learned the value of quality versus quantity. There was a new easiness in their relationship. They were still careful because there was no reason to flaunt, but with a little planning they could have each other whenever they felt the need.

They displayed no more than brotherly affection even when they were out with the flock. You never knew who might be watching. There were occasional hunters and other people in the area. But they were playful sometimes. Murphy especially liked to find creative ways to get close, to touch. They guided their horses side by side, thighs pressing, to discuss the sheep or share a light for a cigarette. Murphy galloped toward Connor one day shaking his empty canteen and pulled up to take a drink from Connor's. He dropped his reins on Connor's saddle horn as he handed back the canteen and managed to unobtrusively squeeze Connor's crotch when he retrieved them.

They were always circumspect around their father but they figured he knew or at least suspected what was between them. He hadn't become Il Duce without being more than usually perceptive. And though Noah had known his sons late, he knew them well. But there was never a hint of censure or disapproval. It was a non-issue in their family circle.

The cottage they shared was small. Two cramped bedrooms, a tiny bath, and an open area for kitchen, dining and relaxing in the evenings. Noah used the smaller bedroom, leaving the slightly larger one for his sons. They all got along remarkably well in close quarters, but the brothers were out most days and there was always the barn if they didn't want to be underfoot of each other, especially on long winter evenings. Connor and Murphy had rigged showers in the barn. It was easier to clean up there after seeing to the horses, rather than track into the cottage and wait their turn for the old bathtub. Noah liked a soak but the twins preferred showers.

They worked on their tattoos in the barn as well. Their most ambitious project was a crucifix with the top half on Connor's back and the bottom half on Murphy's. Noah watched them sometimes. They had offered to design something special for their father but he was satisfied with the butterfly on his hand. The shared crucifix was a work in progress that might never be completely finished. There were always more grain lines to add to the wood of the cross or other tiny details to fill in.

Once the tattooing was established, Noah never came to the barn uninvited and the brothers could be alone there.

It had been a week since they'd been together and, returning to the cottage one evening, they planned to take their time showering. So it was a disappointment to see Noah waiting at the barn to take care of the horses while they cleaned up. Supper was ready, he told them. He wanted an early night since he was leaving at first light to get supplies. The brothers did kitchen duty after supper so Noah could go to bed. Afterward they sat for an hour smoking and sipping whiskey and watching each other, tension building, until they were sure Noah had dropped off. They didn't often have encounters in the cottage but there was no real reason not to if they were quiet.

They lay head to groin sucking each other to completion. Noise wasn't a problem since a mouth full of cock and cum effectively muffled most sounds. There were two narrow beds in their room which they rarely shared except for occasions like this. The room smelled of sex and sperm and MacManus musk when they finished. An open window with fresh air would take care of that well before morning.

So the years passed, the rhythm of their days marking time more quickly than they realized. They were happy to live this life with their father. But then something shifted, gradually at first, but increasing, And life wasn't calm anymore. There was a restlessness they didn't understand and weren't sure how to handle. They tried to ignore it but it wouldn't be dismissed. A change was coming but they didn't know what it meant until Uncle Sibeal's visit that fateful rainy night.

It was a terrible thing that had occurred and payment must be made in blood but despite the circumstances an old feeling was back, a lightness of heart that hadn't been with them lately. The Saints were being recalled to the work they were meant to do.


End file.
